


Hot Stuff

by Llexeh



Series: Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone is at least a bit ooc, I screwed Steve over big time in this one but he's fixable promise, Insomnia, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Pre-slash fluff galore, Profane language, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve's PSA videos from Homecoming make an appearance, Steve's got the following, The author is asking for patience and support, Thor speaks goat, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony bakes cupcakes because he's a wonderful human being, easy goat related puns incoming cause i have no shame, hugs hugs hugs (maybe like a hug and a half?), it probably sounds worse than it is, the Author Needs a Hug, they also give Bennu the goat a new pair of hind legs and i cried writing it ngl, which means I have to tag, yes still only a bit to go now please bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llexeh/pseuds/Llexeh
Summary: If rock bottom was a place, Steve was its main resident. Add a horrible nightmare and an even more horrible panic attack, and he was just about ready to go hide in a hole for the rest of his miserable life. And he really, really didn't need Tony to see him like that. Oh, and his birthday was coming up, of course it fucking was.





	Hot Stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joeybelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joeybelle/gifts).



> Well, at least this took me less than a million years to get out. Thank you for being here - if you've been here before, thank you for continued support, if you're new, welcome to this madness! We're almost at the end, my good people! Only one more to go, where we finally get to experience blissful slash in all its glory. And where these idiots will finally get together and stop annoying everyone, including me. For now, please bear with the pre-slash fluff, Steve's obliviousness, Tony's kind nature, and more crack-like writing.
> 
> I've tagged this as well, but I figured once more in the notes can't hurt. There is extended description of anxiety, panic attacks, symptoms of PTSD, insomnia, anxiety-related ailments. Steve's really not doing okay, and I will work to fix him. But please heed these warnings. If this is something that is particularly triggering to you, proceed with care. Sending love and strength to all of you. 
> 
> Endless thanks to Joeybelle, who this entire series is dedicated to (even if I can't remember why I started writing it and Stony isn't exactly her otp.) I'm still alive because you loved me and continue to do so; thank you for putting up with me and pushing me to write. Thank you for your brainstorming sessions on the phone and for suggesting the title of this installment. Thank you for your amazing ideas and suggestions. iubmultbenmereu
> 
> Also, this is not Yank-wanked (how fucking funny is this term, oh my god) - I forget to spell words the American way like 90% of the time, so excuse words that look odd.
> 
> Very unbeta-ed. Unbetaed? Unbeta'ed? Very much still awkward.

The fifth time Steve was left speechless by how attractive Tony was, he was furiously wiping tears off his face. It hit his chest like an explosion, and it hurt just as much. It wasn’t even a matter of attractiveness anymore, not really. He opened his mouth and stayed like that, unable to form words and push them out.

The flight back was uneventful. Natasha took phone calls and emailed Maria Hill and Pepper back and forth. He didn’t mean to pry, but he got up to stretch and accidentally read bits of what it said. There were not-so-nice words from three of the fiercest women he had ever known and he felt guilty – guilt was not an unknown feeling for Steve. He’d felt it every single time someone got hurt, involved in the same battles as him or not. If civilians across the globe got injured, he’d feel guilty. Rationally, he was aware of his inability to protect everyone, but he resented it more than anything. So when he noticed others having to deal with the consequences of his actions, his heart sunk. He would rather get beaten up for days than inconvenience anyone.

He stayed quiet about it, kept to himself, smiling at the occasional sound from Bennu. They ended up taking her, of course. What Tony set his mind to do, he did. In a way, Steve wanted to be more like him. More assertive, even if it was a front. Peggy used to tell him all the time he commanded respect because he had this honest face. She used to say that he was stoic. He wondered if she’d shoot at him (again) for being the cause of such a fuck-up. She’d probably shake her head and pour him a drink, then down it when she remembered it had no effect on him.

Discovering Bennu was with them in the plane had been a surprise. Steve figured he must have been too distracted to notice the bag Tony was carrying. Because in hindsight, when the bag bleated from the chair opposite the man, the mesh panel on its side was obvious. He looked up at Tony.

“What a surprise!” he laughed.

Steve had to chuckle, because it was such a blatant lie, and the man was beautiful, the fine lines around his eyes making him look like he’d also had happy days. And his small wounds made him look a bit noble, like a warrior, wielding a pen and a sword, and Steve’s poetic thoughts almost always ended up breaking his heart, so he opened the bag, pulled the goat out on the chair and spent some time shading the drawing he’d already done of her from memory.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because Tony shook him awake gently when they’d landed. He felt like he’d been through a grinder of sorts, there was restlessness gripping under his ribcage, the tingles rippling outwards. He clenched his fists. He was groggy, quiet as they disembarked and headed inside the tower.

He took Bennu in his arms with some inkling of clairvoyance, perhaps Matilda had rubbed off on him, because as soon as they were met by their teammates, Steve was highly aware he would need the emotional support. Clint was wearing the upper part of a costume of his, cowl on and everything, completed by Powerpuff Girls pyjama bottoms. Steve sighed.

“What are you doing?”

The marksman shot at him with what Pepper had explained was a nerf gun, the foam dart hitting him in the leg. He grabbed a chair, swung it around in place to face him, and Steve’s stomach sank when he realised where that was going.

“So, you got detention,” Clint started.

“Oh, no,” he whispered.

Bucky was confused, chewing on carrot sticks as he leaned on the counter. “What?”

“You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong —“

“Ohhh! It’s the PSA videos, isn’t it? He’s doing one of the PSA videos,” Tony explained to Bucky.

“The _what?”_

“PSA stands for —“

“I know what it stands for! What videos?”

Clint picked up where he had been rudely interrupted. “The question is, how are you gonna make things right?”

Steve whined lowly, holding Bennu closer. “How did you even find that? Coulson promised.”

Clint pulled the cowl back, his hair sticking up everywhere. “How does your hair even _exist_ in this thing?”

“It’s styled with the tears of gods,” Tony joked as he went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Nat walked in the surreality of the situation, took a look at Clint and promptly swore at him in Russian. “How did you find that?” she repeated Steve’s earlier question.

Clint shrugged. “Some dickhead posted it on Twitter, trying to mock Steve. It backfired massively cause now it went viral with old fans and new fans. And with a lot of teenagers, but I’m not sure why.”

Steve groaned.

“And _why_ did you think it was a good idea to reenact this?” she asked quietly, which Clint knew was a tone reserved for when someone messed up.

Clint fidgeted with the nerf gun. “I was trying to lighten up the mood,” he explained. “And to crack a joke cause he let you call me and fuck with me the other day.”

Steve’s world was narrowing down, and he knew he had to act fast. Before the world would collapse and he would come to with his friends pitying eyes glued to him. So he forced himself to chuckle, trying to be convincing. “Don’t worry, Clint. I knew I’d have to face that one day.” He looked towards Natasha, and she seemed to know, as she was prone to do.

“I got off the phone, we’ve got a vet coming in to check on our new goat,” she informed them, effectively changing the subject. Steve breathed again.

“What goat?”

Steve looked down, then at Clint, then down at Bennu again. “Seriously?”

Clint seemed to notice the goat for the first time. _“What?”_ he shrieked. “Oh my goat!”

“Get out,” Tony laughed.

“Almost as good as Goatzilla,” Nat offered.

“You mean almost as goat as Goatzilla,” Steve tried. “Great, now you’ve got me doing it as well.” He passed Bennu to Tony, who was suddenly ridiculously active. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, snuggling the goat. Steve’s heart clenched.

“This…” Steve waved his hands chaotically. “This thing where you just get a boost of energy out of nowhere.”

Tony clasped his shoulder briefly in what Steve was adamant was a great gesture of affection and regardless of the truth, he would cherish it as such. “Coffee, Cap. Lots and lots of coffee.”

Steve sighed. “I feel like I’ve been cheated out of something great. Before the serum it would make me sick and after the serum it does nothing to me. I mean, I drink it anyway but it’s sad.”

Bucky nodded. “You’ve missed out, pal. Same with alcohol.”

“I’ll put it on my wishlist: getting hyper on coffee and drunk on anything alcoholic.”

Tony laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind!”

He managed to leave when the vet arrived, quietly and hopefully unobserved. He tried his best not to rush to his room, not to attract attention. When Vision enquired about his well-being, he lied through his teeth and explained he felt exhausted, but he was otherwise okay.

He wasn’t ready for the constant bouts of insomnia, alternating with sleeping for sixteen hours. He tried his best to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. He was constantly wired, even on days when he hadn’t slept. His mind was beyond loud, it had become constant background noise.

New York was soothing to Steve. It had always been, even back when he was tiny and everything was much bigger and much more overwhelming. People were rushing everywhere, even when they were out for a stroll. Bucky and him used to joke all the time that the world had a different speed in New York.

He wished he could go out for a run or for a walk. But the world was not keen on letting him just be. He wondered, not for the first time, how famous people did it. Clint reminded him that he was famous as well, and he counter-argued that _famous-famous_ people had it much worse. They at least had the option to go away and be anonymous in their own way, in some remote area. He suggested it once, in passing, and the aftermath had not been great. They all insisted that temporary relocation to the Compound was ill-advised. Especially Bucky, who had always had a knack for knowing when Steve’s mind got loud. He had spoken out, then others nodded their approval, and that was it. He was to stay in New York, to avoid getting too into his own head. It was heartwarming, how much they wanted to protect him, but it was also painful that he couldn’t go regroup alone.

So he was stuck in the Tower. He dared go for a run once, and almost had to call evac because the swarm of people trying to talk to him was restless. He outran them and spent the rest of the day in the gym, fucking up hardened punching bags. He was not soothed by New York and he couldn’t move to the Compound where it would be too quiet, but at least he could work around his issues.

Weeks passed like that, he would spend the long sleepless nights reading people’s reactions. He replied to some. The media caught wind of that and Buzzfeed wrote a listicle about it. He wrote to Buzzfeed, a nicely worded short letter where he explained he would appreciate if they didn’t exactly _promote_ the whole thing. They published it, of course. He never sent the second letter, choosing to write it, delete it, and watch reruns of How It’s Made until morning, when he cooked breakfast for everyone and forced himself to smile and pretend everything was okay.

The fall out from his intervention was relentless. They worked systematically, digging out more crap from his past than he ever wanted to see or remember. On the one hand, his critics kept shouting he wasn’t really Captain _America_ , cause he was an immigrant, wasn’t he? And they kept asking to see his birth certificate. They pulled every single public record there was of him, most of which had been made public after they’d decided he was dead. It would have been too much hassle to move them back into classified, so they didn’t. Transparency was a big one, especially after the whole Washington fuck up.

Steve really wanted to stop reading all the crap they wrote and produced about him, about his mother, about where he had lived in Brooklyn, about every single aspect of his life. Was he single? Was he really an asshole? Was he ever going to find a nice girl and settle down? Did he have children? Had he paid the mothers off? Tony found this last one hilarious, but it really really wasn’t. Tony said he had to deal with that constantly, but Tony had also lived under constant media surveillance, so he was used to it.

Had he been paid to say what he said? Had he been paid by Tony Stark to say what he said? What were Tony’s interests with this emerging country? Why was it Steve who was sent there? Who decided? Who was Steve’s direct handler? Who would answer? What was Steve’s chest circumference _really?_ And if the feet-penis ratio was legit, how big was Steve’s soldier? That was an exact headline; it had been framed and glued to the lift mirror for weeks. Steve took to not checking if his shirt collar was crooked or not.

They pushed into the most outrageous suppositions. Like whether he was a cyborg or whether he was immortal. Whether he was a vampire. Whether he had been built in a lab - this one was often paired with outrageous compliments which should have made it better, but ended up making him cringe constantly. Darcy kept saying it was a good thing, she forwarded him countless “good” articles. He was grateful, but he also kept blushing and hiding under his blankets, even if he was in the solitude of his bed. 

The other “good” articles were along the same lines. There were a couple of opinion pieces he found on Medium and CNN that were articulate and polite. They pointed out the mistakes in his approach, but offered praised for his ultimate goal. In the privacy of his mind, he was humbled and allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit of pride.

In his opinion, the only good thing to come out of it was that as stilted and unprofessional as his words were, they somehow empowered people to speak out against injustices. Investigative journalism took off once there was foreign involvement from NGOs and independent observers who had travelled to ensure the safety of anti-corruption movements.

But he had panic attacks. He had panic attacks every day. He mostly knew when they were about to happen - the way his pulse increased, the claw gripping his throat, the pressure in his chest -, so he made excuses to go sit in the toilet or his room, or any other room where surveillance was minimum or nonexistent. They left him weak, sweaty. He felt hot when he was struggling to catch his breath, but as soon as he anchored himself in the room he was in, he was left feeling cold and lonely. They asked him sometimes if he was okay and he nodded; even if they didn’t believe him, they let him be. He appreciated that.

His birthday was coming up, as Bucky felt the need to remind him one morning over breakfast. They spent the next three hours sparring quietly; it helped, but once that was over and Bucky had finished his post-session advice, Steve wanted to go nap.

He took to doing that in a South-facing room with large windows where they had added plants over the years. Steve sat in the sun and took whatever sleep he could there. Natasha asked if she could join him sometimes and he readily agreed, feeling safe with her next to him. They sat in companionable silence; Steve would watch her knit, mesmerised by the way her fingers moved, deadly effective. He knew those same hands were capable of soothing. He would fall asleep like that, warm and free and safe, and when his sleep stayed dreamless, he had a brief window of time when he was well-rested.

She tried bringing up the old fortune teller. Steve opened his mouth to discuss it, but decided against it. Whatever the woman had said, however much it seemed to fit with the immediately-after events, it was ultimately purely coincidence. Engaging with what he had been told, and even more than that, discussing it with another soul meant he would allow it to reside in the depth of his mind. And all he could associate with what Matilda had predicted was Tony and Tony and him together and Tony Tony Tony. So it was a staunch no from Steve.

The worst thing was when the cold started to seep into him. It seemed to spread to his very bones, then stay there for hours. He felt it like phantom cold, the same way he felt the phantom inability to breathe sometimes. The same way as before the serum, when he was in danger of an asthma attack every moment. It felt like what Bucky described pain.

He was unable to make out if what he remembered were actual memories or fabricated ones. At times, it felt he was so fixated on that exact moment and the immediately following ones, that his brain could have supplied them in an attempt to pacify the restlessness regarding that particular gap.

Extreme temperatures weren’t necessarily debilitating to Steve, but they weren’t exactly comfortable. He couldn’t claim the cold bothered him, but it wasn’t pleasant. This kind of cold was worse, however. He was unable to shake it, despite the June heat. The tower’s central heating system was regulated; the temperature was generally pleasant to be in regardless of the season. But even so, Steve felt cold. He took to turning the heat on at night and he swaddled himself in every blanket he had. The shivering was relentless, and when he did fall asleep, he had nightmares about the ice.

They tried to figure out what he wanted to do for his birthday the closer it got. At first he was vague about it. Then, when they insisted, he explained he didn’t want a party. They compromised on dinner with party hats and watching the fireworks together to celebrate.

Peter had moved in temporarily to help Tony with the new set of prosthetics wheels for Bennu. He had a room in the tower and everything, but he often preferred to go home to spend time with his aunt. Tony’s flirting by proxy was still all over the place regarding May, and Steve did his best to not let it get to him. Most of the time he laughed at Peter’s inability to not cringe, but these days he felt sick every time Tony asked about his hot aunt. He took to caressing Bennu, who quickly became his favourite tower inhabitant. It was perhaps unfair to consider her a service pet of sorts, but she soothed his anxiety somewhat, and she seemed to enjoy the head scratches.

The vet - June, Steve had found out - had declared her healthy and almost fit to work, which Steve assumed was an inside joke of sorts, because Tony had laughed. It was a beautiful sound regardless of who had caused it, so he smiled in return. She left after recommending a balanced diet and ways to handle her in order to ensure she would not be hurt.

The day of the big reveal, Steve understood the ‘fit to work’. Tony walked in first, Peter in tow, followed by very quiet tiny steps. They had gathered in the kitchen for breakfast and stayed for the official reveal of the new member. Bennu walked into the kitchen on four legs, prompting Steve to gasp audibly.

Tony squatted next to her, petting her head gently. “She’s been so patient with us,” he explained affectionately. “We contacted a friend of Bruce’s in Australia and he was able to help us build these for her.”

Steve joined him, inspecting the prosthetics carefully. “Is she in any pain?”

“June says she might feel some sort of phantom pain.” Steve’s heart sank. “We’ve got painkillers for her if she shows any signs of distress.”

“How?” Steve asked, touching the metal on the goat’s legs almost reverently.

“A light alloy, tiny bearings - it’s similar to this one’s arm,” he explained, nodding towards Bucky. “They can start a band.”

Bennu pushed her little head into Steve’s palm. “Oh,” Steve gasped.

“She likes you,” Tony whispered.

“Tell them about the thrusters, Mr. Stark!”

“Tony, no!” Bruce seemed appalled. Bennu had moved on to the rest of the group.

Tony scoffed. “It was just an idea, we didn’t implement it. Well, not exactly.”

Clint assumed his position. “You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong…”

They collectively groaned. Clint had done that for every little thing in the past weeks. Steve knew it was innocent fun, but he was still embarrassed by it. “When will this get old?” he asked Clint only half-rhetorically.

“When you do. Kid! You don’t know about this but —“

“I’m in highschool, we get it played for us every occasion they have,” he explained casually.

Steve choked on air. “What?”

 _“What?”_ Clint was outraged. “Why didn’t you say anything?

“I thought you all knew,” he shrugged.

“No!”

“I mean, some of us did,” Natasha intervened.

“You too?!”

“Coulson made me promise. You wanna be the one to tell him you upset Steve?” she asked Clint.

He pouted. “But, Tasha. We’re partners,” he whined. “Remember Monte Carlo?”

“Is that why you always seemed a bit unimpressed when Cap scolded you?” Peter nodded, absently following Bennu around ready to catch her. “I have no idea where you learned to defy authority,” Tony deadpanned, disbelieving eyes fixated on him.

“Stark, he could be yours, that’s how much he’s like you,” Clint laughed.

Cap was distracted by Bruce rolling on the floor with the goat, that was the only reason he didn’t shut up. “That’s not a bad thing, being like Tony,” he said, pouring a cup of coffee. He realised they were all looking at him after a few second of silence. He willed his face to not blush. “What? He’s alright,” he tried to save it.

Help came in the way of Thor, however. Majestic still, in jeans and flip flops. “Friends,” he boomed. “Hello!” They all greeted him, including Bennu, who let out what seemed like a happy bleat. “A goat!”

“A Thor,” Tony exclaimed.

Thor had a particular look on his face. “Loki?” he whispered.

Tony shuddered. “Please, god, no.”

“Don’t you mean ‘please, goat, no’?” Steve asked.

Tony laughed. “Alright, Captain Pun, you’re not allowed on the internet anymore.” His face seemed to betray some sort of knowledge, and Steve was suddenly scared that he knew what he’d been looking at and doing.

Thor helped once more. “Loki, is that you?” he asked again, prodding Bennu gently. She bleated. “What? I don’t understand what — oh, wait.” He kneeled on the floor and shut his eyes, holding his throat with one large hand. It took a couple of seconds, then he refocused on the room. When he opened his mouth again, a soft bleat came out.

“What the fuck?” Peter whispered. A choir of admonishments followed. “What? Cap swears!”

“Cap’s old, he doesn’t know any better.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

“So you screwed up,” Clint started again.

Peter laughed. “I’m immune, Mr. Barton, told you.”

“Why would you even be in detention? And wow, Mr. Barton, way to make me feel old, kid.”

Thor bleated once more, hand reaching out to Bennu. She seemed to be hyper aware that someone might understand her.

“Yeah, kid,” Tony started. “Why were you in detention?”

“Shush!” Thor whispered loudly. Then he spoke to Bennu again.

“Thanks, Mr. Thor,” Peter said, then realised he had been loud. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Thor continued to talk goat while everybody watched dumbfoundedly. “In today’s weird shit,” Clint started. “Why do you know how to bleat? I mean with a meaning, we can all bleat. Kinda.”

Thor sat down on the floor, letting Bennu crawl into his lap. “It’s actually an amusing tale! When we were children, Loki succeeded in destroying a rare plant our mother needed for a potion, so she turned him into a goat.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Beats a spanking, to be honest. Hah, beats! Get it?”

“Okay, what is up with you and all these puns?” Tony asked.

Bennu pushed her little head into Thor’s chest. “Yes. It was only for a short time, but I missed him so much. So I found a book and learned the spell to be able to communicate with animals. At first I could only speak cow and Loki laughed at me. Then he helped me find the right spell. And now I can speak goat,” he shrugged.

“What was the first thing you said to him when you first... bleated?” Natasha asked.

Thor laughed. “That mother was going to kill him for eating an enchanted apple. And that I missed him,” he said much quieter.

Peter tried to be as respectful as possible when he spoke. “Is Loki the –?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied.

“We don’t talk about it, we all have weird family,” Tony explained.

Peter insisted. “Murderous family?”

“Let it go, kid, no one understands,” Tony shrugged.

“She says she’s grateful for her new legs,” Thor informed them. “And that she thanks Tony for saving her life.” He listened carefully to Bennu. “And that Steve seems to be too sad, but that she’s here for him whenever he needs it.”

Steve’s world started to narrow, so he smiled weakly, hoping it seemed natural. “She’s, uh… very articulate,” he offered meekly.

Thor laughed and Bennu headbutted him gently before bleating loudly. “She says thank you; the kids used to read stories to her when she was younger and she learned a lot of new things.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief. “Well, this is surreal as fuck.” Then he seemed to remember something. He disappeared for a couple of minutes and returned with a bit of cloth. He walked to Bennu and smiled at her. “You get a superhero cape,” he informed her gently. “You’re one of us now.”

Steve’s heart clenched at the kind tone. Bennu bleated, Thor bleated back, then he told them she was moved by the gesture. Then she hopped up to Steve and gestured she wanted to be picked up. Steve did, despite what she had said earlier. If she wanted to offer emotional support, he would accept it. He pulled her up to his face and buried his face in her fur.

Nights seemed endless. They seemed endless and Steve found that even with the increase of daylight time and all the extra activities he made himself do, he was still unable to sleep properly. He took to sparring with Peter, trying his hardest to get him to drop the polite title and call him Steve. He claimed he didn’t deserve it yet. Steve liked the kid, he reminded him of himself as far as determination went. He let Bucky and Clint and Peter teach him how to play video games. He took up colouring – Nat got him into it and he kept at it, trying to empty his mind. He helped Darcy whenever Darcy needed help. Once it was just sitting there with Thor and Vision, rating outfits for a date.

Movie evening - the lighter version of movie night - happened to be the day before his birthday. They had a full house for it. Steve had given in and accepted that they now owned a popcorn maker, the large one they usually had at the cinema. Vision had spent the afternoon personalising it with various Avengers stickers, then proceeded to use it to make enormous amounts of popcorn for them all.

Part of the reason Steve had been so pliant regarding the opulent move of owning such a monster of a popcorn machine was the way he could now have caramel popcorn all the time. He used to have it sometimes when he was young and the sugar rush was almost unbearable for his fragile body. Bucky always laughed at the way his jaws got glued together as the sugar melted in his mouth.

They had totally bribed him with it, and he had been totally okay with it. They sat him down in the middle of the large sofa, flanked by Peter to his left, and Bucky to his right. They presented him with a large bowl of his bribe and he relaxed into the soft cushions, starting to munch on the offered snack. He didn’t know what they’d picked from the Movie Bowl - a system they’d implemented early on in their regular movie nights. It was a large bowl full of bits of paper where they’d written movies Steve and sometimes Bucky hadn’t seen when they were otherwise busy with the ice and brainwashing respectively, but that were generally considered must-watch either by them or by specialty websites.

Tony joined them as Clint hit play on the movie. He looked around, sniffed the air like an overly curious dog, then fixated Steve with a look. “Is that caramel popcorn, Cap?” he asked, putting on a manic face.

“Maybe,” Steve replied in a small voice.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t lie to me, ice lolly!” Steve was terrified of that prospect. Tony assessed the situation, then plopped down in between Steve and Bucky. “This is potentially the safest I’ve ever been,” he announced with a smile.

Bucky snorted. “I know Steve looks innocent, but between watching me work and coming back some sort of demigod, he’s nothing of the sort.”

“I meant safe from danger, but hello new information. Share,” he told Steve in a commanding voice. “Pretty please?”

“What are you on about, Buck?” Steve asked around a mouthful of popcorn, still holding the bowl on his lap.

“Your blue eyes and honest smile, of course,” his old friend replied with a laugh.

“What?”

“Oh, my god! Captain, Sergeant Barnes was talking about how Mr. Stark is in between you two guys and how you’re some sort of…” Peter seemed to be losing steam as he went on with the explanation. “Master of seduction and then he’s actually not safe between you guys cause you’d be double-teaming him or something, I don’t know, just watch the damn movie,” he finished quietly. If voices could blush, it sounded like his just did.

Tony laughed. “For one, why do you even know that term? Do we need to play the Cap video instead?”

“Please, no,” Steve managed to whisper.

“Guys,” Clint tried, but Tony had leaned over Steve to look Peter in the eye. On his part, the teenager was blushing furiously, as Steve had predicted he would. But given Tony’s proximity, so was he.

“Kid, you may have screwed up,” Tony informed him.

“Leave him be, Tony. He’s a hyperactive teenager with special powers and super curious about everything, including but not limited to double-teaming,” Pepper intervened, sipping her wine slowly.

“Yeah, thank you!” Peter seemed to realise what had been said. “Hey…”

Steve’s mind was reeling with images of sharing Tony with Bucky. Aesthetically, he’d appreciated Bucky’s body since he first felt the tingles of attraction, back when he was young. He’d never acted on those thoughts, but he’d lie if he claimed he’d never entertained them. Sharing Tony was inherently hot, largely because it involved the man currently half-draped over his chest, but also because it would be with Bucky. He didn’t want to share Tony with anyone, though. He wanted the man for himself, naked and panting, moaning as Steve touched him _everywhere._ Shit, his dick was starting to harden.

“We’re doing nothing of the sort,” he said in what he hoped was a confident voice. “Peter, if you’re gonna… uhm, learn new things, don’t share them with Tony. Just like the rest of us don’t,” he added without thinking.

Tony pulled back, biting into the massive pile of popcorn on Steve’s lap. “What new things have you discovered, Cap?” he asked slowly.

Steve facepalmed. “Nothing, I’m an innocent old man. Please play the movie,” he told Clint in a small voice.

The archer did, mumbling about how they were all assholes and that he needed new friends. It started safely enough, with a short explanation, then a collage of people doing normal things with their lives.

“Oh,” Pepper sighed when Tommy Lee Jones’s name came on screen.

As soon as the title screen popped up, Tony groaned. “Why are we watching ‘Volcano’?”

“Listen, it’s an important movie that has a good cast and most importantly, Tommy Lee is badass in it,” Pepper defended it.

“I should have known it was you who suggested it.”

“It’s fate’s hand, Tony, let it go.”

Steve smiled at their easy banter - years of knowing each other, a deep connection did that to people. He wished he had that same easy way of communicating with Tony. The others he’d developed an easy-going relationship with. Perhaps it was in his head, fuelled by the way his heart fluttered whenever Tony and him interacted. It could have very well been the case that he was projecting the entire thing and their relationship wasn’t stunted or fragmented in any way.

The movie was fine, Steve wasn’t blown away by it. He had seen enough 90s movies to pick up on the filmography and effects, the way people dressed, as well as the general disaster genre aspect of the movie. Rhodey was adamant he did not look like Emmit Reese, causing great amusement among them all.

The problem wasn’t the movie itself. The movie was just fine, funny at times and entertaining to watch. The problem was Steve and his flashes of panic, building up in his chest every time some imagery of lava and fire came on screen. Not even Tony rummaging in the bowl on his lap could take his mind off it. It was impossible for him to control the thoughts invading his mind, particularly the ones about Tony being in danger of burning alive. He made it through somehow, clenching his jaw and his fists, focusing on his breathing. At some point Tony asked if he was okay, and he nodded because opening his mouth to reply would have been dangerous.

“I still would,” he heard Pepper say. “Tommy Lee,” she explained.

Steve forced out a laugh. “On that note,” he started, and got up to put the bowl away, “I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t you wanna do your midnight birthday song?” Tony asked.

He was moved, but he wanted to be alone more than anything. “After you hit 100 they all just blur into old age.”

They let him be, bless them. Back in his room, he realised he could feel his fingers hurting because of the cold. He knew that realistically he was safe and definitely not cold, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was freezing, extremities first. He took a scalding hot shower, teeth chattering even in the steam-filled bathroom. When he got into bed, he made sure he turned the thermostat up, then proceeded to put on sweatpants and a top and bundle himself up in at least three blankets. The cold was unyielding. He fell asleep accompanied by the sound of his own laboured breathing.

The situation started off normal, he woke up, realised it was his birthday, groaned. He did some stretches, went to relieve himself, then brushed his teeth. He was contemplating a shower when the loud-loud alarms went off. He went into fight mode immediately.

The tower was burning down. All over the place fire had broken out. He knocked on doors, trying his best to wake everyone up, shouting their names and telling them to evacuate. He hadn’t been able to find his shield so he left without it, with nothing to protect him from the licking flames. He could feel the heat on his arms, then enveloping him. He ran all the way to Tony’s lab, barefoot on the unbearably hot floors. Once there, he screeched at what he found.

There was lava, violent destructive lava flowing from the walls into a massive hole in the floor, burning everything. He couldn’t see Tony so he yelled out his name, burning his hands on the melting door frames and other metal objects in the lab. In a corner, close to where the lava was slowly and relentlessly seeping to, he could see Tony. For a brief second he was relieved to have found him, but then he _saw_. The man was burnt, disfigured on his entire left side, body contorted unnaturally. From the walls, he could hear evil cackling, all around him the heat felt like it was melting his skin. When he looked down to his hands, they were just burning bones.

He opened his eyes. The heat was unbearable. He threw the blankets off him, located his shield and _ran._ There was no fire he could see - but what if it had been a premonition? He jumped down several stairs at once, praying to his mother’s God that he would be able to find and save Tony in time. He figured Tony could alert everyone else through Friday once he understood the immediate nature of the danger.

He made it to the lab tripping on his own feet. He couldn’t see any lava _yet_ , but Tony was in danger so he scrambled to the doors, punched in his personal code and stumbled in. The music was blaring, a familiar tune by now. Steve was glued to the floor, frozen in fear and unable to move. He focused on finding anchors around the room.

The knot in his throat expanded all at once and he choked on thin air. He grasped at his throat and chest, feeling the soaked fabric under his fingers. The violent heat had replaced the cold and now he was burning up, he could feel it right under his skin. He pulled his top off, rejoicing in the momentary cool air. Through some sort of out-of-body experience, where he seemed to float above his stiff body that was still rooted to the floor, he worked to anchor himself.

The song’s lyrics - he listened to them for the first time - _hot stuff, baby this evening I need some hot stuff_. He would have laughed if everything hadn’t been so shit. He also noticed Tony, heard his voice.

“Oh, no no no, Cap! Steve? Steve, come on, stay with me! Friday, shush the music.” He was holding Steve’s hands in his own, rubbing them harshly. Steve could almost feel it. “Steve? Steve! Darling, please! Steve, my beautiful darling, please, please try to focus on my voice.”

Steve tried. He tried, his mind reeling, body frozen. Tony was there, Tony was there and safe and he was trying to comfort Steve instead of the other way around. So Steve focused as hard as he could and managed to grasp back Tony’s hands.

“That’s it! That’s it, Steve. Come on darling, come back to me,” he pleaded. Steve couldn’t make out all of the words, but the voice was soothing, and the way the man rubbed his arms up and down was nice so eventually, he managed to see without feeling like he was floating.

“Tony?” he croaked, voice rough.

“Oh, thank god!” the man exclaimed. “Steve? Are you okay? What am I saying, of course you’re not okay, otherwise why would you be standing frozen in the middle of my lab? Idiot, Tony! Are you with me?”

Steve managed a nod. He looked around slowly. Nothing was burning. “Tony?” he asked again.

“Yeah, it’s me! Hi! Do you think you can move? Slow steps, no hurry.”

Steve nodded. He dragged a foot forward, scared he’d topple. Tony moved to his side, letting him lean on him heavily. Together, they made it to the sofa and Steve stupidly let himself plop down, fighting a serious case of whiplash. He refused to vomit in the lab, so he clenched his jaw and hunched over, putting his head between his knees.

“Throw up if it helps,” Tony told him kindly. “It’s no big deal.”

Steve remembered not to shake his head so he grunted instead. Tony seemed to understand because he kneeled next to him, rubbing his back in comforting circles.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, Steve. Nothing will happen to you here, not on my watch. I’ve got you,” he kept repeating.

Slowly, Steve’s breathing came back to normal. He pulled up, the cooling sweat on his back making him shiver. He realised he was topless and disgusting in Tony’s lab. “Tony? Oh, no! Nonononono,” he babbled and made to get up.

Tony pushed him back down. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Steve, it’s just me. I’ve got you, you’re safe. It’s me. I’ll let go with one hand to reach for water, okay? Okay.”

Steve was presented with a water bottle and he downed it in one go. Then he sighed. “Thank you,” he managed in a small voice.

Tony’s entire body seemed to relax. “Oh, thank god.” He sat on the floor next to Steve’s legs, resting his forehead on the man’s knee. “You scared me good, Cap,” he said in a muffled voice from somewhere next to Steve’s leg.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered. “I’m so so sorry,” he repeated, fidgeting with the empty bottle.

Tony’s head shot up. “No! Don’t be! Please. It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I told you to come to me when you need to and I’m glad you did.” He got up, pulled a chair from a nearby desk and sat down in it. He gently lifted Steve’s chin. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Steve said with a short bitter laugh. “But I will, because I owe you that much.”

Tony cocked his head, looking at him with kind eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, Steve. If you wanna talk about it, when you wanna talk about it, I’ll be there for you. But the last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable around me.”

Steve snort-laughed, then realised how it came across. “Sorry,” he sighed, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I don’t feel uncomfortable around you, I think I feel uncomfortable around myself.”

It was Tony’s turn to snort slightly. “Yeah, I know exactly how that feels.” They were quiet for a while. “Anxiety is horrible, Steve. But again, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here. Up to you, soldier.”

It wasn’t the silence that was uncomfortable, it was Steve’s remorse at breaking down to that extent. “I wanna tell you. I do.” He slouched down further, feeling like he caved in on himself. “Can I have a blanket or something? I feel like I’m naked.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment. “Sure. Oh, I got something better!” He rummaged in a drawer under a desk for a while and came back with a black t-shirt. “Here, it’s a bit loose for me but it should fit you at least more than a crop top would. It’s my lazy top,” he informed him quite proudly.

“What’s a — it’s so soft!” Steve was reluctant to put it on. Upon closer inspection, it had some faded writing that said “my favourite scientist says you’re wrong”.

“What’s wrong with it? I can get you a blanket if you prefer.”

“No! It’s great, I don’t wanna stretch it and ruin it,” he said, kind of regretting the size of his frame.

Tony laughed. “It’ll just be more comfortable. Don’t worry, it’s a magical t-shirt.” He pulled it towards him and Steve held on tighter, eyes wide and definitely not ready to let it go. Tony sniffed it a couple of times. “Okay, it’s clean. I think I wore it only once since it’s been washed, if that bothers you I can —“

“No! No, don’t worry. I wanna see the magic,” Steve added, trying to fix coming across as too keen. Because he was. The only thing that could be more comforting than wearing Tony’s top, especially after he’d worn it for a bit and it smelled like him - and Steve could swear he was not a creep, he really wasn’t, the man just made his heart’s knees weak - would be draping the man himself over his chest and hold him for a while. And even that had the potential to be not-comforting, given how much tension Steve would be feeling and how much it would affect him. He finally put it on, and sighed in relief, part of his anxiety settling down finally.

“Better?” Tony asked as he poured hot water in a mug. He handed it to Steve. “Bruce’s special blend of herbs and potentially some drugs that won’t work on you, but they seem soothing anyway.”

“Thank you,” Steve replied in a small voice. He sighed again. “I had a really bad nightmare,” he shrugged, trying to say it as casually as possible. Tony’s distorted body flashed before his eyes.

The man nodded, sipping from a mug of his own. Steve could smell coffee. “Was it about the ice?”

Steve shook his head. “It was lava and fire and I couldn’t save anyone and –” He swallowed heavily, his hands shaking around the mug. He made a conscious effort to not break it. It seemed to be standard issue, but it wasn’t polite to go breaking people’s tableware. “The lab was on fire, I couldn’t find you and when I did, you were burnt and there was nothing I could do. The smell –” He felt bile rising to his throat and he forced it down, pressing down on his chest. When he opened his eyes, Tony was pushing down on his shoulder. The pressure anchored him; he felt his entire body hanging from the man’s grasp.

“Shh, I’m okay. See?” He took Steve’s hand in his. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

“I had to come find you,” Steve explained.

“Good! You did well,” he said, and Steve couldn’t explain how, but it settled the pain in his chest.

“I couldn’t help,” Steve whispered. “I couldn’t do anything, and the heat was horrible and –” He paused to breathe in, trying his hardest to regulate his heartbeat. “And the cold has been getting to me again,” he continued, realising only a second too late what he’d done.

“Again? What cold?” Tony asked gently.

“It’s too late to try and say that it’s nothing, isn’t it?” When Tony nodded, he continued. “It’s been… not great since we came back. I feel cold whenever… I don’t know how to put it.” He paused. “When it gets bad I feel the cold like… then. Like I’m freezing again. It’s mostly at night, but it hasn't been this bad since we were looking for Bucky. I thought it would go away by now.”

“It’s been weeks, Steve, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m not exactly great at opening up about this thing. Besides what do I even say? Oh hi guys I’m a bit mental but don’t you worry it’s all under control it’s just that sometimes I get unbearably panicked and I feel like the world is narrowing down around me and then oh and then I feel like I’m freezing but don’t you worry I’m perfectly okay and it’s only when I’m alone and get insomnia oh also I get insomnia but don’t you worry I don’t need sleep anyway and even then sometimes I sleep for fifteen hours and wake up tired but don’t you worry I’m a-okay.”

Tony chuckled sadly. “Maybe with a bit more punctuation and less sarcasm, but yeah, pretty much that.”

Steve snorted. “It’s not easy.”

“No, it isn’t. This sleeping issues, does anything help?”

“Not really. There’s… sometimes I sleep okay when I’m not alone. I napped while Darcy was reading in the living room and I didn’t feel as tired when I woke up. It’s most likely a coincidence. I was really drained that day –”

“Steve, after Afghanistan I had Rhodey stay with me every time I napped in the lab. I couldn’t do more than twenty minutes and I had to check he was still there. It took months for me to sleep in a bed again,” Tony told him. “It does help, knowing you’re not alone.”

“But that makes me a burden!” Steve exclaimed.

Tony cupped his cheek. “You could never be a burden. Ever. Not to me, not to any of us.” Steve went quiet, trying not to lean into the touch. “We’re here for you. Steve. _I’m_ here for you, if you let me.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Okay, yeah.”

“To which part?”

“All of it, I don’t know. To you being there for me, I’ll let you,” he whispered. The storm inside his chest was fading, but the aftermath meant that he felt exhausted. Perhaps Tony would let him sleep there for a while. Just this time, so he could get a bit of rest.

“Great!” The man clapped his hands, making Steve jump. “Shit, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. So you know how it’s your birthday?” Steve groaned. “Yeah, I know, you’re not a fan, but it’s just the two of us and I’ve had something planned for a while and if you could just be patient with me for a second or an hour or so –”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” Steve explained. “But you shouldn’t have –”

“You don’t even know what it is I’ve got planned!”

“Knowing you, it’s something outrageous and –” Tony’s face fell a little. “Shit. I meant it as a joke, Tony.”

“No, no, you’re right. It is something I’d do.” He busied himself with some tools, tightening screws, back to Steve.

“Maybe it is, but I love it,” Steve blurted out, feeling the heat take over his cheeks. “I mean… I mean. You could be getting me a car or a piece of paper that says ‘present’, and I’d love it anyway. It’s who you are, I don’t care if it’s over the top,” he finished lamely. “Besides it’s from the heart, no matter what it is. If it wasn’t from the heart you wouldn’t even remember and –”

“Okay, who told you about the car?” the man asked turning around, hands on his hips, something smeared on his cheek.

“What?”

“What?”

“What car?”

“What what car?” He paused, business face on. For a second, Steve thought he was actually serious. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” he laughed. Steve joined him. “I’d never get you a car.”

“Good, it’s too much to even think about –”

“I’d get you a vintage bike, personalised and everything.”

Steve groaned. “You wouldn’t.”

“True.”

“Good.”

“I’d build it myself.”

“Tony,” Steve whined. This right here, this banter, this lighthearted way of interacting. Steve loved it. He kept at drinking his tea to avoid saying something embarrassing.

“Speaking of building things –”

“Tony, no!”

“Relax, what’s a new fully-automatised – I’m fucking with you. I did build an oven, however.”

Steve tried to understand, but somewhere between joking about building him a something and the oven, he’d lost the plot. “An oven? You mean like a box that heats things up and eventually cooks them? With the hot air, yeah?”

“Captain Sarcasm they should have called you, truly a majestic American feature. Yes, an oven.”

“Like the one we have in the kitchen, right?”

“Yeah, like the – oh, I see. Well, the one in the kitchen can’t be used with my alloy for Clint’s arrows or Natasha’s new – I mean I could probably tweak it a little and then if I reinforce it…” He pulled out a bit of paper and starting calculating.

“Tony?”

He looked up, surprised expression on his face, as if he’d forgotten Steve was there. Then it morphed into something much gentler. “Sorry, I get stuck in my head sometimes.” He reached into a cabinet and pulled a bowl out. He inspected it through the cling film. “Looks okay.”

“What does?”

“Batter!”

“Sure. What?”

“You’ll see. This should be safe to use on food, I did all the calculations, then I had Friday run them too.” He worked methodically, pulling out a tray from under a deconstructed suit. He looked at the circuits briefly, then shook his head to clear it and kept at it. “I mean, now you know I have a secret fridge under this particular desk, but I trust you with my life, of course I’m gonna trust you with my fridge. And I got it to keep this batter cold and well, now it’s full of soda and cold cuts for when I get hangry so…”

“Can I help?” Steve asked after he managed to control his silent laughter that had his body shaking with joy.

“Nah, I got this! I can see you laugh, just so you know.” Steve stopped abruptly, tensing at the thought that he’d been rude. “I love it, it’s a welcome change from earlier,” Tony said, giving him a wide grin.

Steve sighed. He couldn’t even remember if he’d apologised before, but once more couldn’t hurt. “I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to be so —“

“Nonsense, don’t worry about it. We all have our demons and we all deal with them the best we can.” He poured batter in a cupcake tray and Steve wanted to hug him forever. “I do think you should consider talking to someone. We can screen them, I can write an algorithm to match you with someone suitable. It’s ultimately up to you. I’m not gonna make you go talk to a therapist, but you can’t be surprised if I’m gonna keep a closer eye on you.”

Steve nodded. “You’re right, I know you’re right.”

“It happens,” Tony shrugged, cheeky smile on his face. He inspected the tray one more time before pulling open the door to a massive oven.

“Uhm,” Steve managed. “I don’t doubt you, but —“

“I’ve worked it out, it uses a fraction of its power and I have this really handy stand for these babies.” He grabbed a suit torso, dropped it in the middle of the oven and gingerly placed the tray on it. “Friday, nine minutes starting… now!” He shut the door and turned to Steve.

“Are you making me cupcakes?”

“No?” Tony blatantly lied.

“Okay, so nine minutes, huh?”

“Almost eight now.” Then he remembered something. “Okay, are you comfortable shutting your eyes for a while? I promise you’re safe. I have a surprise and I need you to not see what it is until it’s ready. You can always open them if you feel trapped or anything.”

Steve smiled. “I trust you,” he said simply, leaning back further into the sofa.

“Friday, resume the song! Oh, where did I put it?”

Familiar bars reached Steve’s ears. Tony started dance-walking around the lab, rummaging for something. “This song,” Steve started.

Tony looked at him. “No peeking!”

“Oh, now? Okay, okay.” Steve shut his eyes, regretting not being able to watch Tony do his little dance; his hips had started swaying most interestingly, but he complied with the request anyway. He realised why the song was familiar when it reached the chorus. “What song is this?”

“Donna Summer,” Tony replied. “It’s called ‘Hot Stuff’ - oh here it is!”

Steve felt himself blush. It was the song that always played when he entered the lab. “And this is my song?”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, I found it appropriate. Everyone’s got a different tune so I know who it is when they enter.”

He could hear the man spraying something, then some paper rustling. “Tony?”

“Yeah? It should be safe, I mean it’s mostly for metal but you’re pretty much indestructible and I’ve already inhaled so much of this shit, I’m probably an addict by now,” he laughed. Steve made to get up, eyes still firmly shut. “I’m joking! I invented it, it’s safe. I think.” And laughed some more.

“Boss, it’s time!” Friday shouted.

Tony dropped something and swore loudly. “What, you couldn’t beep like a regular timer?”

“Beep beep,” Friday deadpanned.

“I’ll uninstall you. I will,” he threatened.

“Yeah, right I’d like to see you try. I’m backed up to shit. Good luck, punk.”

“The level of disrespect I put up with. Unbelievable. Steve, can you believe this?” Steve managed to agree through his laughter. He kept his eyes shut, waiting patiently. He was adamant that whatever the surprise was he would be happy regardless. “Okay, now for this part - I need some hot stuff, baby this evening. Ouch! Okay, not the kind of hot I had in mind, shit!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, minor burn, nothing to worry about. Dum-E, listen buddy. This is for Steve, okay? You might not like me, but Cap is your favourite, right?” Steve had to refrain from cooing. The robot whirred in what sounded particularly questioning. “Steve _is_ Cap. Come on, bud! Get with the program. Okay, use the human-safe cold. Wait, let me check it. Yeah, okay. Right on these. Gently… a bit more… there you go! Well done, Dum Dum!”

“I had a friend called Dum Dum - well, his name was actually Timothy. Good man, had a thing for rifles.”

“Hell of a full name, as well,” Tony agreed. When Steve stayed quiet, he continued. “I read everything I could get my hands on,” he explained. “Aunt Peggy used to tell me bedtime stories from the war, and then from SHIELD. I used to sneakily drink coffee when no one was looking so I could stay up and listen to her. She figured it out one night, made me promise I wouldn’t do that anymore. But she’d come earlier and spend more time with me. When I was old enough to drink coffee without getting in trouble she was exasperated.”

“Sounds like something Peggy would do. They were all good people,” Steve agreed.

“Yeah. Okay, almost done… and I’m done! Don’t open your eyes yet!” Tony warned.

Steve could hear shuffling, then steps. He heard the wheels of a chair being pulled closer, then he felt Tony tapping his shoulder. He opened his eyes, taking a couple of seconds to focus in the bright lights. The first thing he noticed was how close Tony’s face was to his. Then he saw the blue smear on the man’s cheek; it looked like frosting. Which led him to the logical conclusion that he should look down. It took some willpower, but he succeeded. Tony had indeed baked him cupcakes, covered with red, blue, and white frosting; he sat in front of him, biting his lips nervously.

“Steve?”

But now that Tony was on the same height level, Steve could focus on him properly. He was wearing what was clearly a handmade paper birthday hat, painted in the same patriotic colours, complete with a tissue pompom. Steve shook his head, unable to speak. His chest burst, the train raced through him, around him, through him again, like a snake, and he couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t form words. Tony was so mindblowingly beautiful, so handsome and his smile so soft. Steve ached, his ribcage pulsed furiously, his heartbeat seemed deafening, but he was unable to focus on anything but Tony. He realised at some point he must have started tearing up when he felt the wetness on his cheeks. Then he could feel his eyes welling up some more and he started crying quietly, trying to stop it, postpone it, maybe even leave so he wouldn’t do this in front of the man. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t get up. He would never be more in love with anyone, that much was clear. He wiped his tears furiously.

Tony’s face took on a panicked expression. “Oh, no. No no no no no! Fuck the cupcakes, we can throw the cupcakes out.”

He moved to pick them up, but Steve grabbed his hand. “Please don’t! I love the cupcakes so much,” he managed.

“I thought —“

“No, I’m just grateful.” He felt his cheeks warm up. “Sorry, it’s just that everything… and I’m a bit overwhelmed. And I thought you’d died, but now you baked for me and it’s just…”

Tony smiled. He squeezed Steve’s hand. “I know.”

Steve thought he looked adorable, with the frosting smear still on his cheek. Without thinking, he reached up slowly and gathered it on his fingers, eating it greedily. Tony was still, watching him. “Can I?” Steve asked, pointing to the cupcakes. Tony nodded, humming his approval. So Steve picked one up, biting half in one go, the flavours exploding in his mouth. “Oh my god!” He was talking with his mouth full, speech muffled by the dessert.

Tony smiled again. He picked one himself. “I calculated all ingredients using formulas and then tasted to check as well,” he explained.

“This is so good, Tony. Gimme.” He pointed to the other party hat. It was spray-painted crudely, obviously in a rush. Steve loved it.

“It’s suit paint, I ran out of watercolours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, when I was like six,” Tony deadpanned. “Steve…”

“I’m okay,” he sighed. “Honestly. I mean, I’m exhausted and still shaken and supremely embarrassed, and I’ll probably feel guilty and ashamed for the next six months, but I’m okay.”

Tony was quiet for a while. They enjoyed the cupcakes in silence, broken by the occasional whirring noise from Dum-E. “Stephen Colbert wants you on.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, he called me the other day, said you’d do great with his audience.”

“Oh. Do I have to?” Steve asked quietly.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. John Oliver ran a segment on you as well.”

Steve sighed. “Darcy told me. She sent the link and a bunch of memes I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Tish,” Tony whispered.

“Come on! I use hip young modern lingo all the time!”

“True. But you also say things like ‘hip young modern lingo’, so…”

Steve laughed. “Golly, what’s a fella to do?” he asked in an affected voice.

“Not try to spend time with me unchaperoned, for one.”

His face fell. “Oh!” He made to get up. “I’m sorry, I’ll go, you’re right.”

Tony snorted. “Steve, I’m joking! I’m a grown ass man, for fuck’s sake. Even if chaperones were still a thing, I’d have… I don’t know, eaten mine by now.”

“Oh. Wait, do you mean like…?”

“Yep, definitely. I mean, I don’t know what kind of eating you had in mind, but still yep.”

Steve blushed. He was so _glad_ the serum hadn’t fully fixed that. “Uh…”

“That kind of eating! Mhm, didn’t take you for not-so-innocent, Cap, I gotta admit.”

“Oh, shut up, you started it.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m all vanilla and shit.” He paused briefly before laughing. “I really tried to stay serious, but I lost it, sorry.”

Steve smiled. “I’d think of you as _romantic_ before I think you vanilla.”

“Hey! I’m romantic! This one time I baked cookies and shit for this guy.” Another pause, where he seemed to realise what he’d said. “Anyway,” he tried, getting up.

“Tony?”

“Mhm?” The man was trying to busy himself with the plate and glasses.

Steve yawned, choosing not to comment on what Tony had said, the man seemed embarrassed enough as it was. He’d overthink about it for days, though. “Do you think I can crash here for a bit?”

“Oh? Oh, sure! Mi casa es su casa! I mean, even more so than you owning a part of it and living here. I mean - yeah, go for it.”

Steve smiled. “Come on, let’s put these away. Dibs on doing the dishes.”

“Fuck it, I’ll do it in the morning.”

Steve wanted to argue, but he yawned again. “Okay.” He got up and together they dumped everything in the sink in the corner.

“You must be more tired than I thought if you’re not fighting me on this.”

“I’ll sneak in and do it tomorrow. I probably won’t sleep for long anyway,” he sighed.

They were close, Steve noticed. They were close enough that he could smell Tony, as weird as it felt to think that. It smelled like how his sheets smelled, like how the t-shirt smelled. He felt dizzy, the warmth from the man seemingly radiating onto his skin. Tony turned just as he leaned it minutely, adamant he could get away with it.

Tony smiled. “Can I… Birthday hug?” He gestured towards Steve, forearms stretched out a bit.

He couldn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Tony took a step forward, effectively cancelling all distance between them. Steve could feel the man’s toes touching his, the briefest of touches signalling just how close they were. Tony leaned forward, the small difference in height enabling Steve to receive the hug, feeling him mould just right to his torso. Steve hoped the quiet sigh he let out wasn’t too obvious. Tony lifted his head a little, the slow delicate burn of his facial hair on Steve’s cheek making his toes curl. He inhaled sharply.

Tony’s breath was right in his ear. “Happy birthday, Steve,” he whispered.

Steve nodded, once more uncertain he could trust his voice. Tony pulled back, taking his body’s warmth with him. There was a moment when he locked eyes with him that made Steve think he was going to kiss him. His heart felt like it stopped, but then he kept going, farther away from him, and Steve could breathe again.

He felt small, in a way he only felt before the serum and whenever he did something wrong. He felt cold, a fraction of what freezing all those years before was like. He felt like he wanted to be protected. He tried focusing on something else, anything else. There would be the right time and place for over analysing this entire interaction. For the moment, Steve was forcing himself to not do any of that. Perhaps he could steal the jet and run away. He’d get maybe an hour alone before they’d descend on him like vultures and drag him back into their shared home. As he distinctly avoided locking eyes with Tony, he noticed something in the far back, on a shelf.

“Tony, is that the tv fish?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” the man laughed. “I figured they wouldn’t miss it much. It’s so ugly, isn’t it?”

Steve contemplated it for a second. “Yeah, yeah it really is. Why did you take it, though?”

The man shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll give it to the twins for their birthday, they laughed so much when they saw it.” Steve yawned again and Tony smiled gently. “You wanna sleep for a bit, Cap?”

Steve nodded and let him guide him back to the sofa. He sank in the comfy piece of furniture, the tension in his back muscles now a dull ache. He shifted a little, found the best comfortable position he could and sighed deeply. “Thanks,” he said with another yawn. It sounded perfunctory to his own ears. “Seriously, I really appreciate it. You’ve been so helpful and so nice.” He would have liked to go on, maybe more poetically, but he could feel his feet getting cold and that could only mean one thing. He braced himself as subtly as possible.

Tony waved his words away. “Don’t worry about that now,” he said. “Actually, don’t worry about that at all ever. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Mhm,” Steve managed instead of a worded response.

Tony chuckled. “I’ll be over here, running simulations as quietly as possible. Feel free to nap for as long as you need.” He clasped his shoulder briefly, then pulled a throw over his feet and went to do some work.

Steve was cold. He was tired - exhausted, actually, and on top of feeling cold because of that, he was _cold._ Rationally, he knew Tony had already seen him in a particularly pathetic state, he could mention it. He could. Except his mouth wouldn’t open more than a tiny bit to exhale deeply, and he couldn’t force words out through that. The cold travelled up on his shins, then it engulfed his thighs. He turned to face the back of the couch, hugging himself tightly, physically unable to make himself reach for the throw and cover the rest of his body.

He must have dozed off because he came to suddenly aware of the clattering sound in the lab. To his horror, he realised the sound was coming from him - his teeth were chattering loudly. The cold hit him all at once, on every inch of his skin and deep under it to his very soul.

“Steve?” Tony asked quietly.

He was beyond mortified. More than the vulnerability - and that he could deal with, relying on someone to have your back in life or death situations kind of meant you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around them -, he was _weak_ , and Steve couldn’t fathom appearing weak in front of Tony. Not more than he’d already done. He stayed quiet.

“Steve? It’s okay, darling.” He tucked the throw around his shivering body. Then he was gone and Steve’s heart sunk. He returned shortly after, gently dropping another blanket on top of him. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I don’t know what good it is, but I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“It is,” Steve croaked.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry. What is?”

“You. You’re good,” Steve managed through the violent trembling.

Tony hugged him then. Kind and gently, like a flutter of a hug. For someone who was usually so blunt, Tony was acting with the utmost of care. Steve’s body was treacherous and decided human contact was grounds for tensing suddenly. Tony started to pull back. “Oh, Steve! I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Steve forced himself to move. He turned towards the man, an abrupt jerk of his entire body to the right. He plopped unattractively in what he was sure looked like a dying fish. “I’m sorry! It’s okay, you can always hug me.” He shut his eyes when Tony’s face started to look pitying.

“Okay, okay yeah,” he exhaled. “I’m gonna help you up a bit and move you around for another bit and then it’ll get better,” he explained.

Steve nodded, unable to fight whatever plan Tony had. The man scooped his nape with a steady hand, clenching slightly and pushing his head up. Steve tried to help as much as he could. He felt himself being lifted, then pushed down the couch. Tony moved around a bit, and when he lowered Steve back down again, the surface was different. Steve opened his eyes. Tony’s beautiful face was looking down at him; he had maneuvered himself under Steve’s head.

“Just a little more,” he instructed, and Steve got up enough to allow Tony to place the pillow under his head. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve assured him. “So okay.” He was still cold, despite the layers covering him.

“Is it always this bad? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Sometimes,” Steve answered. “Would you? Have said anything?”

Tony sighed. “No, probably not. But Steve —“

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he lied.

“Clearly.” There was a pause. Steve figured he deserved the impatient tone. He wished he could get up and go back to his bed, in the solitude of his room, where no one would see him like this. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. How can I help?”

“You’re already helping so much,” Steve assured him.

“What about…” His hand touched Steve’s forehead, prompting his eyes to fly open. He wasn’t aware he’d shut them again. The calloused hand felt wonderful on his skin. “Is this okay?

Steve nodded, unable to look away from the man’s eyes. The fingers spread then, combing down through his hair. He shuddered.

“Was this a good kind of shake-shake?”

Steve managed a smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Is this okay?” Tony asked again, scratching his scalp gingerly.

“My mom used to do this when I was sick. It was very often, so she had time to figure out what kind of physical contact helped,” he explained.

Tony was quiet for a long time. His other hand joined the effort and together they caressed Steve’s temples and cheekbones. “My mom did that too. When I woke up from nightmares, she would sit next to me on the bed and tell me stories and pat my head. I figured it would help.”

“It does,” Steve said. He could feel the cold retreat to its small place in the back of his mind. He was safe, safe in Tony’s arms, cared for at the tips of his fingers. He blocked the thoughts of being a burden, of being weak, of being anything other than loved. He dared to think the word, despite knowing it would backfire terribly once he had full control of his mind again.

Tony’s hands were magical, Steve thought. They were warm and large, and most importantly, relentless in their soothing. He didn’t want to fall asleep, where he couldn’t even attempt to control his thoughts.

“You’re okay, darling. I got you,” Tony whispered when he saw him frown.

“You got me,” Steve repeated with a slur.

“That’s right, I got you. I’ll do this forever if you need me to. Try to sleep now,” he urged him.

Steve’s demons were mostly appeased, he realised. They were trying to fight back against the feeling of being protected; ugly words, nasty thoughts that told him he was going to be mocked by everyone for being this pathetic. They reminded of him all the articles and comments he’d read, and called him names. Told him he was a burden, a weakling, _pathetic_ for needing this much. They mocked him for the way warmth bloomed under Tony’s careful caresses. They mocked his feelings for the man, the way he was greedily taking all this pity and turning it into meaningful actions.

Steve was tired. Perhaps the demons would be appeased and he wouldn’t dream once he fell asleep, but regardless, his last conscious thought before drifting off was telling them he was safe and warm and in Tony’s arms and honestly, they should fuck off.

**Author's Note:**

> ONEMORETOGO
> 
> Part of this was inspired by the tumblr post about Peter being immune to the PSA videos - I had to put it in here, I've been laughing at it for fourteen years. Also, Thor's story of Loki is a really dear headcanon of mine, I had to add it to this. I'm super excited about Peter's guest appearance in this one, I wish he'd been more involved. 
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know how you found it. Remember, if you don't have anything nice to say, make sure it's at least constructive. If it can't be constructive, shove it up your arse. Thanks for reading, much love xx
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://llexeh.tumblr.com/)! (I also take requests and prompts in various fandoms.)


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